


Scars, Stitches and Harm

by 4CrazyFriends, Pawpricez (4CrazyFriends)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamswap (Undertale), Angst, Angst and Feels, Gen, Heavy Angst, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4CrazyFriends/pseuds/4CrazyFriends, https://archiveofourown.org/users/4CrazyFriends/pseuds/Pawpricez
Summary: Soon Error wiped his tears though it was ineffective, sniffling as more tears streamed down again. He looked up and took a notice to the note. Cross saw the glitch get up, and slowly with fear, walk up and grab the note.A paused moment.It was a cycle. And it was about to start again.





	Scars, Stitches and Harm

**Author's Note:**

> vent.
> 
> also was made at 11:00 pm at night so was sorta rushed, probably not up to my usual standards, and was not proof-read.
> 
> Cross - Scars
> 
> Error - Stitches
> 
> Nightmare - Harm
> 
> huge trigger warning for self-harm and suicide. really angsty. stay safe, y'all.

_**Cross - Scars** _

He hadn't meant to really pull up his sleeves, but when he was washing his hands before he made dinner, Nightmare and Error on the couch making some light talk, his sleeves rode up a tad too much and it revealed a peak. Cross was quick to pull it down before anyone noticed, but it still stung in his memory. He tried hard not to think about it.

But it persisted.

Now he sat in his room, his door locked - _for good measure,_ he told himself - and had his knife resting on the bed. It seemed to stare at him and say _'come on, pussy'_. The alien tingling feeling rested on his forearms, causing Cross to rub and massage his arms.

Cross selectively ignored a thump sound, gulping when the temptation became too strong, and he reached for it. He touched it, feeling the smooth metal. _Can't have it glowing red,_ he thought, _it'd slice through me like a knife on warm butter_. He gripped the handle hard, the grip a little painful, but his hand shaked as he slowly brought it closer to himself. It was a cycle. And he was about to start it again.

A scream - and Cross flinched, using his other hand grabbing the sharp edge of the metal as he jumped up. The urge became stronger, practically screaming at him to continue as tiny droplets of blood pooled at where he accidentally cut himself, but he ignored the thought as he ripped open the door and headed for the direction of the scream.

He halted at Nightmare's door - it was wide open, which it never was, and at the doorway stood Error. His glitching was freaking out, breathing rapid. Cross came up behind him. "What's happeni-..." his voice died in his throat when he saw the scene in front of him.

A pile of dust and a small pool of blood laid on the floor, all of Nightmare's clothes lying on top of it, stained and now dust-ridden. Right next to it lied a note and a knife.

Cross' eyelights shrunk as he stared at the scene in horror.

He didn't react. He didn't have much in the way of feelings besides the thought that this wasn't real. But the sights, sounds, feels - the small wound now stung - said so much otherwise.

And he stood there.

In shock.

While Error broke and fell to the ground.

He couldn't process it.

Soon Error wiped his tears though it was ineffective, sniffling as more tears streamed down again. He looked up and took a notice to the note. Cross saw the glitch get up, and slowly with fear, walk up and grab the note.

A paused moment.

It was a cycle. And it was about to start again.

_**Error - Stitches** _

He felt _pain._

He didn't dare mention it to the others, not even show it, but it was there, stinging, burning when he moved too much, and it never left his mind. It was difficult for him to talk to Nightmare, process his words, figure out his own - it just hurt. So, so much.

And after dinner he went to the bathroom. And locked the door, just to play it safe. The needle he used earlier was there, in the safe place he put it. It was clean.

He decided not to worry about it though. He pulled up his shirt to reveal his ribs, bloodied and scabbed. It hurt to breathe. But he tried hard not to think about that.

He lightly jumped as he heard a thump noise, but didn't pay much mind to it. He grabbed the hydrogen peroxide and soaked a wad of cotton in it. It stung today's wounds and Error winced, but kept it up, cleaning himself up. He didn't bandage it once he finished, and he felt _bad_ about the fact - like it was his fault he hurt himself and now he can't cover his wounds.

Error shook his head and sighed. _This needed to stop,_ he thought to himself, putting away the peroxide and throwing away the somewhat bloodied cotton. _I need to talk to Nightmare,_ he opened the door and walked out. Nightmare had always helped him when he was feeling down, would ask to comfortly touch him, say soothing words in his amazing voice - Nightmare always had the right words and Error knew if he kept this a secret, Nightmare would be disappointed in him.

Nightmare's room was eerily quiet and Error had an uneasy feeling, but he persisted regardless. As he opened the door, a whiff of a bitter and sharp smell entered his senses, but the sight is what got him.

There stood a pile of dust and a pool of blood on the floor. Error blinked for one second.

Then he screamed. He could feel himself almost crash right then and there, tears bursted forth as pain filled his chest, sobs echoing out. Nightmare was there. But he was _gone._ Dead. Done. Dust. And it filled his soul was so much pain he couldn't even stand anymore.

Soon his initial shock wore off, though he could not stop the crying, as he wiped his soaked cheeks, his eyes unblurring enough to see a note and a knife. Absentmindedly, he got up and walked over to Nightmare's dust pile, picked up the small note, and read it. It had tear stains on it.

"I couldn't tell it to you all. Not in person. Not while it was possible to be weak. But I couldn't continue on. Not anymore. I didn't have the strength to carry on and be with you. I'm sorry."

And a new wave of heartbreak hit him and tears came at full mast.

It was a cycle. And it was about to start again.

_**Nightmare - Harm**_

Neither of them seemed themselves, and while he took notice he didn't bother asking if they were alright. 

_What a pathetic, selfish bitch._

Error constantly shifted and occasionally wince. Cross seemed distant. 

"Hey, Error?" He was talking to the glitch. 

"Hmm?" He hummed. 

"Do you and Cross know how much I love you?" Nightmare asked. 

Error winced when he shifted again. "Yes, we love you too." 

_They're obviously faking that they hate you,_ It stung a bit. Stupid fucking thoughts wouldn't leave him alone for one puny second. _They hate you, they don't want to see your face, you're a disgusting whelp,_ was amung some of the kinder words, and by the end of the night he was brought to tears. He couldn't even look his friends in the eye. He couldn't bare to tell them he wanted to kill himself for a long time. And that finally he was going to do it. 

_You deserve the pain._

Nightmare was in his room, the door locked for extra measure. He had his pant leg pulled up, revealing an array of scars. And he couldn't stop himself as he tore and tear at his thighs. But it didn't help him. He still felt that pain that lingered inside. He was tired of it all repeating. It was a cycle. And it was about to start again. 

His eyes were filling with tears as he got up, pulling down his pants leg. His friends were not there as he went to the kitchen, and grabbed the sharpest knife before heading up to his room again. He had the plan formulated in his head, grabbing a pen and a paper, sitting back down on his bed and writing. 

His head filled with many things he was afraid to tell Cross and Error. His mind swirled with all the things he could write - "I'm sorry i made you hate me, I'm sorry for this, I'm sorry for that..." but he left it as it was, tear-soaked and all. 

He whispered it to himself. ""I couldn't tell it to you all. Not in person. Not while it was possible to be weak. But I couldn't continue on. Not anymore. I didn't have the strength to carry on and be with you. I'm sorry." His soul ached. 

It was a cycle. And it was about to start again. 

Nightmare clutched the note as he stood up, breathing in and out. He controlled his breath. His soul pounded and his hand shook as he felt the knife aimed right for his soul. One quick fluid movement. That was all it took. 

Another deep breath. 

And another. 

Just a quick, fluid movement. 

And Nightmare took it. His soul gave a lurch of pain, more excruciating then he's ever experienced, as the knife stabs his spirit, stumbling all the sudden when he pulls out the knife. Blood from the wound poured out of him and his balance gave out, hitting the ground with a thump. The world swirled and soon disappeared around him, his senses dulling before giving away entirely. He was now in peace. 

It was a cycle. 

And it was now finally stopped. 

**Author's Note:**

> depression always feels like a cycle... there's bad periods, there's good periods, there's neutral periods... but even on good days, you're still depressed. And when you get out of depression, it sucks you back in, because when you've been depressed for a long time, when you finally don't feel sad or hating yourself for every little thing you do, it feels weird... alien... uncomfortable even... and when those feelings persist you force yourself back into the cycle, because when you've been depressed for a long time, that's all you've ever known... it's all your comfortable with... I've made a grave mistake in coming back into the cycle, this time even worse then the two times before and this time, it might cost me my life... maybe someone will miss me... but I'm so unknown and alone... would anybody really bother? sure, I've talked to people, become prominent in a few servers, but... nobody really cares, do they? if i ceased to talk, nobody would notice. if i didn't write or draw anymore, nobody would notice. if i stopped reblogging, stop shitposting... nobody would even remember my username. i feel like I'm lying to myself, but in order to feel myself i have to... because that's who I've been... i want to get out of this cycle, but when i get out of it i keep going back in because that's all I've grown accustomed to now... and it repeats, over and over again. circles and circles, i go around. it's a cycle. and it is about to start again.


End file.
